I Would Give You My Heart
by IfUKnewUCouldNotFail
Summary: Patrick Jane had been doing a bit too well lately, Red John could see it, and he couldn't allow it. Jane/Lisbon.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Haven't written in ages, and never for The Mentalist, but this idea has been skulking around in my mind for awhile, I think I have some pretty solid ideas for continuing it…if people are interested, let me know. :-)

**Chapter 1**

Patrick Jane had been doing a bit too well lately, nothing big had changed on the surface of his favorite former fake psychic-current CBI consultant's life, but he could tell there was a difference.

Patrick Jane just didn't seem to be suffering as much as used to be, as he should be, as he had been. He was smiling more, and some of those smiles were genuine, he was laughing more, and some of those laughs were genuine and most damning of all, the other genuine thing he could see in Patrick Jane's eyes…was hope.

Red John could see it, his nemesis who was supposed to be existing in a state of perpetual torment just for him, was existing for something else now… someone else, and he was doing it with a sliver of completely unsanctioned happiness in his heart.

Patrick Jane was daring to hope for a future, a future after him. It had taken 10 long years but Patrick Jane was beginning to 'move on'. That was not part of the deal. There was only one thing to do, he was going to have to kill that hope…he was going to have to kill Teresa Lisbon.

And then his nemesis would belong to him forever, whether in life or death.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Another case closed, another case closed pizza…and another…coy? smile aimed at her. Something was different about her wayward consultant lately, nothing big, but something had definitely started to change. It wasn't that he was behaving himself better on cases, because he certainly wasn't. She was sure the morning would bring more complaints she'd have to deal with regarding the very case they had just closed…or that he had just closed. But that wasn't too much of a concern to her right now, he'd pissed off much more rich, powerful and important people in his time than the low life guilty-as-all-hell creep's that she might have to contend with come morning…or have legal contend with.

It wasn't how he acted around the office either, in non-case related moments like this one, for the most part…but just occasionally it would be. Every so often, and at a speed that was becoming a little more often still, he would act very un-Jane-like, but in a good way. That sounded terrible, she liked Jane, she really did, for the severely emotionally damaged but brilliant and lovable man that he was. He was one of her closest friends, a member of a very small and exclusive club that was Teresa Lisbon's inner circle. He was a man she trusted…with the important things, and if she was being honest with herself there was more there too. A dangerous, against the rules and emotional baggage ridden more, but more none the less. And it was something about these non-Jane-like moments she had been witnessing with ever increasing frequency that was making her think about that more…and that was dangerous.

Everyone who knew him, knew the Jane act, at least they knew the way Jane acted. She suspected that she may be one of a much smaller group capable of seeing how much of an act it really was, how practiced to precision, every seemingly careless word and mannerism was. She thinks that is why the recent difference is so apparent too her, on the surface he his doing almost exactly what he would be doing, without his carefully arranged façade. But it's that his smiles are just a little wider, just a little…different. It's that his laugh is just a little louder, a tiny bit more unreserved and last's just a smidge longer than it otherwise would. But these were all only very small tells, Jane himself might only barely catch them, were he able to outwardly and unbiasedly observe himself.

There was just one other thing she had noticed that had made her sure, that had convinced her that her observations were not just random, that they meant something…it was his eyes.

They were the same beautiful expressive eyes, even if what they were expressing was usually carefully measured and doled out. They had always twinkled when he was into mischief, which meant they twinkled pretty often. They had always easily expressed a certain, albeit limited, level of contentment and happiness when an outcome that he had, against his better judgment, allowed himself to get a little too attached too, turned out right. They had always been capable of going completely blank in times of sorrow, a Jane last-ditch defense mechanism when he was all too close to doing the unthinkable and letting his real sorrow show.

It would be cruel and frankly untrue to say that every look he had ever given her had been fake. It was true that there was a certain measure of fake there pretty much all the time. But if you knew him as well as she did, you could usually see past it fairly easily and see the warmth, compassion and depth of character that he so ardently kept hidden beneath.

But recently, she would swear that what she was seeing in those moments was the fakeness dropping entirely, if briefly. She would swear that those moments that showed her the slightly wider smile, the slightly longer, louder laugh were also showing her the completely real Jane, if just for a brief moment.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jane was entering dangerous territory and he knew it. What was more, he could tell that she knew it too. There had been nothing overt occur to speak of, so he hoped they were not betrayed. But a big part of his mind knew better than to merely hope such a thing that so very much was riding on.

The Red John cases had gone cold in recent months, the main reason for this was the complete lack of new information available, this was for the simple reason that there had been no more murders. Not in months and months. While this was obviously a good thing on the surface, unfortunately Jane knew it really wasn't. He knew that while the psychopathic serial killer was still out there, all his future victims were living borrowed time. It was not like he was ever going to stop on his own, he had to be stopped.

Jane was truly quite mad at himself at this point, he had allowed himself to relax, to let his guard down, at a time when he should have been at his most diligent. In his heart he knew nothing good could come from his nemesis' unprecedentedly long absence from his favorite pass time of torturing him. The absence could only mean one thing, a bigger play was in motion, something that would cause an infinitely bigger hurt to him, and that could only possibly mean one thing, one person as his next target. Lisbon.

He was ashamed of his own weakness, mental weakness at that, something that was usually his vast strength. He knew better in every way, the only excuse he could really give was that he was tired. While he was certainly getting tired of the relentless chase, he wasn't nearly tired enough to give it up, his wife and daughter needed to be avenged and he needed to make sure he did everything in his power to ensure that misery that had been visited on them and on him was never visited on another. Obviously he had failed on that score many times, with every dead body Red John had left in his wake since his family's deaths. But he was still committed to what needed to be done.

The perverse part of all this was, the reason he was getting so tired of the endless chase was the same reason he had to continue it and end it at all costs.

What he was really truly getting tired of was the loneliness. It had taken him a good many years after his self imposed removal from all human contact and affection, of which his celibacy was only a mere symptom. But now he was truly, honestly and miserably lonely.

He knew what had done it too, he probably could have carried on his lonely single purposed existence for another decade if it weren't for his soul's desire being dangled under his nose on a daily basis for years on end. Growing more and more desirable to him as he helplessly witnessed his defenses against her slip little by little, powerless to prevent their slow withdrawal.

When he looked at Lisbon these days, for all the world she looked to him like the most healing balm specially designed just for his specific wounds. It wasn't just the notion of resuming a sex life either, though she had most definitely succeeded in bringing that desire back to life. No, it was the desire to just touch her, be with her, have that physical and emotional connection he had so long denied himself. And to have it with the single person he desired to touch and be touched by, both physically and mentally.

And now his desire for her had most probably directly resulted in the much higher likelihood of losing her. He had painted a target on her back, stroke by stroke, by his every look in her direction. It was foolish to think Red John had not seen what he had finally admitted to himself, what he could tell she had seen, what he knew even the team suspected.

That there was 'more' between them. Frankly they were right, there was more, on both their parts, it just wasn't very much more. It was a more that so far only existed in their deepest hidden desires and sometimes slipped past their gazes to traitorously betray them to the world in general and Red John in particular.

It was a 'more' he desperately wanted to make more still. A desire he wanted to fulfill and bring to fruition. And he was now mentally torn on the matter, not a common position for him. Matters of the mind were not matters he usually exhibited hesitance on, but he did with this one. He was inclined to believe it was a case of 'damage done' when it came to the chances that he had made Lisbon a target of the vicious serial killer.

Naturally that didn't mean he washed his hands of what he had done, quite the opposite, but what he was thinking now was, was there any point keeping his distance from his heart's desire when there was every likelihood that, as stated, the damage on that score was done? He even thought that closing the physical proximity between them might be a good thing, might help her, might mean he could better protect her if he were close. Not physically of course, he knew Lisbon had twice his strength and untold abilities to use it when the need arose, and he was man enough to admit it and not be remotely threatened by it.

On the contrary, he was glad of it. Firstly, it was part of the woman he loved and he loved every part of her. Secondly, any physical strength she held could only help her in surviving the end game when it came. Which he was becoming more and more convinced was coming soon.

But physical strength was not the main battlefield this fight had thus far been fought on and he doubted it would be any different for the final confrontation when it came. Lisbon's physical strength could indeed help her, but he was still, perhaps arrogantly, convinced that it would be a battle of intellects that really dictated the victor of this long waged war.

There was another part of him that wondered if he was simply interpreting the signs to suit himself. Imagining a scenario where he could get what he wanted. A final battle he could win, that would bring a long awaited end to his nemesis. But most of all a scenario where he could be with the woman he loved and in doing so help her, instead of hurt her.

He just didn't know what the correct course of action was, but there was no doubt that whatever path he took, there was a very real risk that it would all end horribly.

If he assumed his deep regard for his small but feisty boss was already betrayed, then being close to her, giving himself and her some small but much desired measure of comfort before the day came that they would have to confront the devil seemed like the better plan. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her on that day, minimizing the risk of finding her after the fact, and hopefully maximizing the chances of coming through victorious.

But if he was wrong, if there was still hope that she could be spared entirely. From being anywhere near the final battle, spared from the slightest risk of harm that he would have been the one to bring down upon her head…then he had to take it, didn't he?

**TBC…**


End file.
